Archive for the ‘prose’ Category

I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was my favorite shirt. I wore it no less than 2 times a week. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves. It wasn’t revealing or feminine and it wasn’t refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung to not just my body, but to my mind, soul, and spirit. It was who I am, inside and out.

The first time I met her, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence, and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way. They live life being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don’t mind so much, because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don’t. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to go up to her, and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello. She took all of me in, and saw in me at that precise moment what I saw when I looked in the mirror every time I wore this shirt. I was grateful.

For many years, she and I were inseparable. She seemed to adore me, even if I wasn’t wearing this shirt. That’s something I’ve never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt had to have magic! This shirt brought us together and it was rewarded with it being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!

I’m not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of my relationship with her. She began to despise this shirt with rolling her eyes, and mouthing, “Oh God, I’m sick of it.“ Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had the shirt lost its appeal, so did our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror. Whatever she saw, she no longer did.

This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there, hurt too much, that I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much, deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down, a part of me wishes we had never met.

Carly’s song plays
in my head
everytime
I pick up a pen
and begin to write.
My words
unshared
cause even though
it is written for me
you will think it’s not.
It really doesn’t matter
what you think,
cause only I
know my own code!
The blue journal
with a star
that was sent from afar,
knows all there is to know.
It doesn’t have an opinion
one way or the other
whether what I wrote
should have been
or not.

thanks for the journal!!! I still love it just as much!!! And the pen never leaves me!!!

The cat has been crying
under the window pane
for five nights in a row.
A couple of times
she left a plate of milk,
giving a pat or two
on top of its’ head,
in hopes, it would feel
enough love to move along.
But to let it in
is more than she can bare.
The cat has too many issues,
missing a few teeth
and in a few spots,
scars lay where the fur had once been.
She puts up a wall,
feeling only relief
when the crying stops.

I don’t know why I feel the need to say this because I’ve never explained my written word before. But just so everyone knows and we’re all clear….this is not about anybody I’ve met online. Just a random observation about life. Like I’ve said before….it comes to me, I write it down.